It's pretty much a well known fact my house is loud; just ask anybody who's ever dared to enter the front door. If we ever got one of those decibel counters installed, I'm fairly confident we'd at LEAST rival a 747 at take off.
Most of the time, I deal with it OK. And by deal with it, I mean I walk around cringing at every yell, scream, and crashing of toys like some shell shocked veteran of Sarajevo. Today, however, I developed the mother of all headaches around lunch time.
By the time I hit the door around 6 tonight, it felt like tiny elves were hitting my head with ball peen hammers while singing a Celine Dion song. In other words, it hurt. REALLY bad.
So the usually joyful sounds of my children suddenly morped into what I'm sure a cannon sounds like when you are standing 1 foot away when it goes off. After popping 4 Tylenol and drinking about a gallon of water, I was able to sit upright enough to take a picture of Trot and Ciera. I got the hint he wanted me to snap his photo after 5 minutes of him walking up to me and yelling "Chee", so I grabbed the camera.
Sort of unnoticed unless you really look is Rakes over Trot's left shoulder. There he is, in full on Star Wars mode, oblivious to what is going on around him. Should it worry me he only wants to be the bad guys when he plays his game?
Lastly, with the Super Bowl on Sunday and Spring Training still a few weeks away, I'm about to enter the time my sports world turns into a vast wasteland. I'm not a basketball fan, so the time between this Sunday and Opening Day always seems to last forever. Thankfully, this makes year number 3 that I've had my satellite dish, so I at least get daily Spring Training updates and some games on NESN.
Which makes the fact LOST returned tonight that much more enjoyable. The stupid writers strike took Jack Bauer away from me this year, so I'm counting on the 8 new episodes of LOST to carry me through until the first of April.
And yes, I'm fully aware of the fact I need to get a life.